


Outside

by 1dfetusfics



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Play, Daddy Kink, Fingering, M/M, Top!Harry, Top!Zayn, adult!Harry, adult!Zayn, age gap, bottom!Louis, noncon, teenager!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1dfetusfics/pseuds/1dfetusfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's got problems.<br/>Louis got even more.<br/>Zayn's got an infatuation<br/>(loosely based on the song Outside by The Weeknd)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside

“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it, Louis,” Harry growls, his large hand gripping his boyfriend’s upper arm and wrenching him backwards.

Louis cringes, trying to swallow the way he wants to submit. He thinks for a moment how much he hates Harry. How possessive and older and stronger he is. How he makes him absolutely tremble with the need to please him.

“Let me go, Harry,” he whispers, trying not to cry.

“She was nothing, Lou. Will you just stop and listen to me, please?”

Louis shakes his head vehemently, struggling against Harry’s grip again. He can smell perfume coming from the twenty-five-year-old’s tshirt and grimaces, turning away from the scent. Harry squeezes tighter, roughly grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at him.

“This isn’t fair! You can’t do this! If you leave, everybody’s just gonna know you’re a little slut for older men and nobody’s gonna want you, Louis. You don’t have a choice,” he grunts, shoving forward and backing the fifteen-year-old up against the front door of his flat, which he was previously trying to exit. “She wasn’t anything. You can’t leave.”

“Let me go, Harry! Stop!” Louis whimpers, trying to wrench his hands free from where they’re trapped in one of Harry’s large ones.

“Promise me you won’t leave,” Harry begs, pressing their foreheads together.

Louis presses his lips into a hard line, trying to get some leverage to pull away and gaining nothing. Harry’s free hand is still gripping his jaw, his thumb grazing his bottom lip. He presses forward into Louis’ mouth, prodding for his teeth to open. Louis bites him.

“Shit!” he shouts, retracting his hand only to strike it out again and slap the younger boy across the face, leaving a red mark in its wake. “You see what I have to put up with, Louis?! All I’ve ever wanted to do was make you happy. Why can’t you just be good for me?”

“Fuck you.”

Harry grins, “Sure thing, Princess.”

Louis glares and struggles again, the tears of sadness and hurt quickly turning to those of anger and hate. He’s lifted from his position, pressed hard against the door, Harry forcing his legs around his waist. He makes a small noise of surprise and protest when he feels Harry’s free hand sneak into the front of his trousers and squeeze hard. Before he realizes what he’s really doing he spits in the older boy’s face.

Harry sputters in surprise, dropping his grip on Louis, causing the younger boy to fall to the floor. Louis squeaks, shooting up and grappling for the door knob and wrenching it open. He only makes it to the outside landing before he’s pulled forcefully back inside and slammed against the wall again.

“You little fuck, Lou. You absolute little fuck,” Harry growls in anger, his hand coming to constrict around the smaller boy’s throat.

Louis whimpers, “Stop-”

“I know I cheated but spitting? I thought you were taught better, Princess. Maybe we should have a repetition of the rules?”

Harry grips him by the hair, shoving him forward, further into the flat. He stumbles in the hallway, falling face first into the grimy carpet. He hopes he’s dead. He isn’t.

“Move! Now!” his boyfriend growls in his ear, gripping the soft downy hair at the back of his head and pulling him up on his knees. A dry sob rips its way through his throat before he’s nodding, crawling on his knees to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Please, H-Harry I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, I know you didn’t, Princess. Which is why you’re going to be fucking good.”

He shakes his head as he’s shoved onto the unmade bed that smells of the same perfume as Harry’s shirt. He cringes again, trying to curl in on himself and stop sobbing. The older boy manhandles him into the position he wants before moving to straddle him, looming over him menacingly.

“Haz, pl-please.”

“Shut up, Louis,” Harry whispers, lengthy fingers constricting around his throat once more. “Just shut up.”

***

Everything aches when he wakes up. He doesn’t cry. He winces, untangling himself from the blankets and Harry’s arms, slipping out of the bed. He locates the closest set of clothes, his jeans from last night and a shirt of Harry’s, slipping them on.

The morning light filters through the disgusting windows, illuminating Harry’s sleeping body. Louis tries not to look as he gathers his things, knowing the older boy is awake, watching him. He wobbles out of the bedroom and down the hall, slipping his shoes on in the foyer.

When he gets home he kind of wants to cry because his flat is easily walking distance from Harry’s and that used to be an advantage. He doesn’t. He slips through the front door, trying to be as small as possible, hoping his mum is still asleep. She isn’t.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asks from her place on the tiny couch in the tiny living room, cigarette and drink in hand.

He shrugs, trying to ignore how the motion makes his bum throb with pain, “Niall and I went out - ran into some guys. You should see them.”

Jay smiles, seemingly pleased, “Cool.”

Louis shuffles down the hallway to his tiny bedroom. Not cool. Things haven’t been cool for a very long time. He doesn’t know if he’s just starting to notice that or if he’s been blissfully oblivious. He doesn’t really care.

He lights a spliff and puts his headphones in. Tries to ignore the way it’s excruciating to sit. The way his face, chest, and arms ache. The way the walls of his too tiny bedroom are closing in on him, laughing at him.

He doesn’t cry.

***

Niall’s drunk and spilling beer and shouting and it’s really kind of endearing. Louis thinks he doesn’t remember when anything Niall did wasn’t endearing. Thinks how much he missed that endearing face. How much Harry had kept him away from him.

“Shit, mate - that’s really bad,” Niall had sympathized earlier when Louis had told him what had happened.

Louis nodded, “Yeah - I…he’s been calling me and following me but I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, don’t go back to him. That’ll just make it keep happening, Lou. I mean, I can’t tell you what to do - but you can do better. Maybe someone our age.”

The smaller boy glared at him, cheeks flushing. He immediately regretted it, knowing that Niall wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t even sure he understood. Maybe Harry did. He doubted it.

“Harry’s age is the least of my problem-”

“Oh sorry - maybe the fact that he could kill you is more important. Yeah, I think so,” Niall snapped harshly.

Louis fell silent, sipping from the bottle of beer his friend had handed him shortly after they’d came down into his basement. He didn’t press it.

Except now they’re drunk and rowdy and things feel so much better. To be here and not have to worry about Harry or his mum or anyone. He doesn’t care. He really doesn’t.

Except he really should and his phone is vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out and tosses it aside after seeing the name flash across the screen. He drains another beer, feeling his head swim like he wishes it always could.

“S’fuckin three already?” Niall slurs, checking the clock on his phone.

“Shit,” Louis swears, yawning and hauling himself off of the couch. “I gotta get home. Mum’ll skin me if 'm not home for Saturday breakfast.”

Niall smiles drunkenly at the mention of the Saturday morning tradition at the Tomlinson house. Remembers how nice it’d been when they were little and things weren’t always so fucked up. He has a fleeting sober thought, and hopes most of Louis’ sisters are still as oblivious as they where.

The smaller boy grabs his phone and stuffs it back in his pocket, throwing his share of bottles away and putting his jacket on. He tries not to wobble much on the basement stairs, or out the front door. He fails. It’s okay.

He’s glad his house isn’t far because it’s fucking cold. Stuffing his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders, he shakes his head to sober up a little bit and starts the trudge back home. He’s tempted to check his phone, knowing Harry left a message. He doesn’t.

His mum’s passed out on the couch when he gets home, TV blaring, lights on. He sighs, turning the devices off and draping the afghan off the back of the couch over. He stares at her sleeping form for a long while before dropping a kiss to her temple and walking upstairs.

Daisy and Phoebe are curled up in his bed when he opens the door, like usual. He’s been kind of hoping they’ll grow out of it, but kind of hoping they don’t at the same time. Because even though they squirm and hug and they’re really annoying and here almost every night, it’s comfortable knowing they need his security as much as he needs theirs.

“Boo?” Daisy murmurs softly, squinting and eye open in the dark room to see her brother standing in the doorway.

Louis nods, “Yeah, D.” He changes into a pair of joggers and finds an empty spot, curling up with his back to his sisters. Daisy shuffles tentatively closer, sharing the duvet with her brother and cuddling her face in between his shoulder blades.

“You okay, Boo Bear? You haven’t talked in like… two weeks,” she observes softly, grabbing a fistful of Louis’ tshirt.

“Yeah I… I’m okay. Just do me a favor and don’t ever grow up, okay? And if you have to - make sure you can throw a better punch than your stupid brother, yeah?”

Daisy laughs softly, “Okay. But you’re not stupid. You’re smart enough to know how to raise us when mum doesn’t-”

“Hey,” he cuts her off, “don’t say that, alright? She does what she can. Just go to sleep, D. I’m fine, okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles quietly, snuggling a little further up into the nape of his neck and falling asleep. He wants to cry because he loves his mum and his sisters and Harry and he’s sure at least some of them love him back. At least some of them want to see him happy. He really, really wants to cry. He doesn’t.

***

His name is Zayn. Zayn Malik. And he’s shagging Louis’ mum. And he’s possibly the sweetest, hottest man Louis’s ever seen. Holy shit.

And he decides it’s weird. The fact that he’s not like the others. The grimy forty-something-year-olds who fuck, eat and leave. The ones that make Jay angry and violent, and happy and content at the same time. He hangs out, joins them for breakfast, talks to them.

The way that he gives Louis sidelong glances and is especially worried about his personal welfare. It’s kind of cute though, the way he makes the family feel like maybe for once they could be whole. Until he pushes Louis against the stairway railing and kisses him softly after everyone’s gone to sleep.

It’s nice. It’s definitely weird.

***

“Lou?” the gruff, tired voice send shivers down his spine.

He keeps his eyes to the floor, reading the tattoos on Harry’s ankles over and over until the words jumble together, “I… Can I get some stuff I left? Like my clothes and extra charger? Please?”

Harry softens, hating himself for being the cause of his outgoing, adorable little Louis being so scared like this. But he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a teeny part in the back of his mind that’s pleased. He nods, muttering a soft, “Yeah”.

Louis skitters inside the flat, trying not to run to back bedroom. He tentatively searches through Harry’s dresser, picking out clothes that are his (and definitely doesn’t grab the band t-shirt of Harry’s that he always wears. No, he doesn’t. And really, it shouldn’t be so upsetting to be here in such a drastically different situation but it is.

Harry walks in, looming closer to him, large hands coming to rest gently on his hips. He squeaks in surprise, clutching his clothes closer and squirming away. He feels like crying, his head screaming for him to run while simultaneously telling him he misses the touch.

“Lou I…” Harry whispers, trying to get close again. Louis manages to let him put his hands a little higher on his waist. Let him nuzzle tenderly into the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Please,” Louis whimpers, squeezing his eyes closed, shaking his head in denial. “Please don’t. Please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know why he even came here. He could’ve survived without this stuff. Could’ve left with a clean slate, like any sane person. Although he’s never really been one of those.

Harry doesn’t speak, just holds him. He doesn’t want this. He’s not scared. This is Harry and Harry has hurt him and he should go. He’s not scared, but he is stupid. He gasps suddenly, as if coming back to himself after an out of body experience and instinctively jerks away.

Harry grips him a little tighter when he startles, “Lou, please you know I didn’t-”

“I… I have to go. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying not to cry. He collects his clothes, trying to gain his breath as he turns and leaves the room.

He doesn’t fucking cry.

***

Louis doesn’t really say anything about the kissing, because Zayn doesn’t do it often. Mostly when he’s upset or vulnerable, like he just can’t help himself. Sometimes after breakfast when the kitchen is empty and they’ve finished doing dishes. Sometimes a little drunkenly when he catches Louis dabbling in his mum’s alcohol cabinet - a silent, sloppy way of saying he won’t tell. Like it just seems appropriate.

And sometimes he sees Harry on the street while he’s walking with Niall and it makes him feel a little worse every time they kiss. Even when Zayn’s nice and sweet and tells him this is okay. Tells him he deserves better.

He lets it happen. It’s not so weird anymore.

***

He’s drunk, and Louis resents him. Even though his own mind is a little fuzzy around the edges. He smiles, thinks maybe it’s bloody and broken. Maybe it looks just like it feels. It doesn’t.

He’s not sure if his drinking has progressed his dancing from tentative to slutty. He guesses the latter from the way Niall’s glaring, and he giggles. Zayn’s definitely staring now, so he’s not sure if he cares all too much. It’s kind of lovely. Knowing, even in his drunken mind, that the older boy blew his mum off to go out by himself after hearing Louis’ plans.

Except there’s a hand on the span of his hip, squeezing softly. Oh, crap.

“I miss you,” Harry slurs, giggling and pressing a messy kiss to the hollow beneath his ear.

Louis doesn’t answer, closing his eyes. Maybe if he can’t see him, he won’t be there. No matter how much he wants him. His hips still move, only they sway a little closer to his (ex?) boyfriend’s crotch. Harry dances with him clumsily, one hand on his hip, another on his lower belly. This is not okay.

“She wasn’t as good as you, Princess. Never looked all worked up and pretty like you do,” he drawls, nipping at the cartilage of Louis’ ear. Fuck.

The younger boy winces like Harry’s twisting the knife a little further into his wound. But he’s here and touching and loving and the feeling kind of makes him want to cry. He doesn’t.

“Come back to mine tonight, yeah? How long are y’gonna stay mad at me?”

Harry squeezes him tighter. Zayn’s still watching. He shakes his head, thinks he definitely doesn’t want this. Remembers Zayn’s fingers on his skin, lips on his own. It suddenly doesn’t feel as wrong as it did.

“I have to-”

The older boy grips his jaw, turning his face and kissing him tenderly. His tongue is wet and warm and his lips fit a little better than perfectly. It’s nice. He kisses back.

But it’s not nice. And that sudden thought really fucking hurts. He pulls back, keeping his eyes closed and nudging his face against Harry’s for a moment - hoping to find something. Anything. All he finds is the sour smell of alcohol on his breath and the smug grin splitting his face. Nothing.

“I have to go,” he whispers for the second time in how long he doesn’t know. He doesn’t tack on an apology this time, disentangling himself slowly, making his way back to the bar.

“What the hell are you doing?” Niall snaps, actually the sober one for once.

“Having fun!” Louis giggles, trying to find the happiness he’d felt moments ago. It returns quickly as he hops delicately (stupidly) up in his stool and orders another drink.

“Hey, Lou, I don’t mind giving you a good time, but I can’t serve you anymore tonight. Sorry, mate.” Liam, the always nice bartender, says softly.

Louis pouts but doesn’t argue. Unlike Niall, he’s never been one to make a scene. Niall chuckles, his bad mood clearly dissipating. It’s cool.

“C’mon, Lou - back to mine, yeah? There’s still booze down in the basement,” his blonde friend suggests timidly.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, giving a small nod. “Okay.”

He’s too drunk to understand tabs and money. He grabs a wad of notes from his pocket and tosses it onto the bar, hoping it’s enough. He follows Niall out, tiny hand fisting the back of his best friend’s shirt like a scared kitten, trying to keep his balance. Niall grumbles about wrinkles but doesn’t push him away.

Zayn’s out on the sidewalk, leaning against the outside wall of the building, fag between his lips. Louis would giggle at how it looks like he’s trying to be badass if the sight wasn’t really really hot for him. He sees Louis and smiles, taking a drag and puffing a plume of smoke out around the cigarette.

“C’mon, Lou-”

“Zayn’s here,” he cuts his friend off with a giddy smile, stumbling his way over to the older boy.

“Don’t think your mum would like you hanging out and getting wasted with her boyfriend.”

“Shut up, Niall.”

“Come on then, Lou!”

Louis giggles stepping a little closer. Zayn grins, closing the distance, pulling the fag out of the way and pressing a kiss to the younger boy’s lips. It’s definitely nice.

“You’re… you’re fucking crazy, Louis,” Niall groans in exasperation. He kind of waits to see if maybe his friend will break away from the amorous snogging and come to his senses. He doesn’t.

“Jesus Christ.” He turns and walks the opposite way, towards his house. He makes sure to slam shoulders with Harry as he exits the pub himself.

“You really wanna do this?” Zayn whispers, flicking the butt out into the street and gripping Louis by his jacket to pull him closer.

Louis nods, seeing curls out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t care. Nope, not at all. He kisses Zayn again and tastes nothing. He’s sober.

Zayn grips Louis’ waist gingerly, guiding him to walk in front of him, kissing the nape of his neck. They walk past the exit doors. Louis keeps his eyes closed.

***

And, okay, maybe things aren’t so fucked up. They are, but Louis’s drunk and hard and pressed up against the hall wall of Zayn’s flat and he could really care less. He’s kissing him too soft and it’s really starting to be a problem.

“Need you to…” Louis breathes, nudging their foreheads together. “Harder…need more-”

“Rough, Lou? Want me to manhandle you a bit?”

The younger boy nods, a blush of shame coloring his cheeks. He can’t help the whimper that escapes him as Zayn rips his shirt above his head and connecting their lips again. The older boy bites at his bottom lip until it’s spit slick and bright red.

He grinds their hips together, reveling in Louis’ breathy little moans. He reaches his right hand to pinch one of Louis’ nipples not all too gently. The younger boy starts, tensing against him and pushing into his hand. Zayn gets the idea and takes the other one in his mouth, sucking and biting until they’re pretty and rose colored.

Eventually Zayn manhandles him down the hall and into his bedroom, pushing him roughly down on the bed. Louis lands back on the pillows, his head swimming as he tries to get through his jeans. The older boy pulls his hands away and shoves his own larger one down into his briefs, grasping his leaking cock and fisting it harshly.

“Thank you,” Louis gasps, surprised to be granted so much pleasure so soon. Harry usually makes him wait. “Thank you, thank you.”

Zayn nudges his face up, sucking a lovebite into the edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to thank me, Louis,” he murmurs sincerely, pressing a kiss to his mouth. It’s almost loving and that’s really not okay.

He shimmies Louis out of his jeans, tossing them aside, biting at the insides of Louis’ thighs and soothing the marks with kisses. Louis bites his lip nervously, tugging the hem of Zayn’s shirt as if asking him to take it off. The older boy obeys, removing himself from the bed to rid himself of his clothing. Louis nearly gasps at his size, tries to keep out the thoughts of how Harry’s bigger.

“You’re really pretty, Princess,” Zayn breathes, sucking the warm skin of his neck. Louis tenses at the nickname. He doesn’t really think anything of it.

“Thank you,” he giggles nervously.

“You’re very welcome,” the older boy grins, reaching over to the bedside table and coming up successful with a bottle of lube. He settles back on his haunches between Louis’ spread legs, squeezing the wet substance out onto his fingers.

Louis’s kind of distracted by the spinning of his head, but there’s a wet finger prodding into his hole and it kind of hurts. He wonders why and then remembers. He giggles, shortly cut off when Zayn’s lengthy finger finds his prostate. He moans, head bowing back between his shoulders as his elbows prop his upper half up.

Zayn mouths playfully at his length, kitten licking around the crown and Louis whines in frustration. He moves a little farther up, suckling the sweaty skin just below Louis’ pecs, nipping at it until it’s a pretty shade of red. The fifteen-year-old whimpers and ruts against his finger, stuttering out, “More!”

His mind is fuzzy and he’s hard, pre-come leaking against his tummy. He’s muttering unintelligible words and requests of harder and faster, although almost completely unaware of what he’s saying. Zayn nudges in a third finger before he’s ready and the burn makes him groan, his cock giving an angry lurch of pleasure.

“H-Haz,” he whimpers, displeasure writhing uncomfortably in his belly after realizing exactly what he said. His hips stop for a fraction of a second.

Zayn presses a fleeting kiss to his hip, murmuring against his tanned skin softly, “You can pretend, Lou. It’s okay.”

He’s shaking his head vehemently, tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over. They don’t. He’s still mentally berating himself when the older boy slips his fingers out, making him gasp at the emptiness. He scrambles further back against the headboard, flipping over on his knees and gripping the edge, unable to meet Zayn’s eyes.

Slipping the condom on easily, Zayn grips Louis’ hips in a bruising grip, remembering the smaller boy’s earlier request. He grabs a handful of Louis’ arse, kneading it harshly, evoking a moan from him. Grinning, he uses both of his hands to get leverage on the younger boy’s body, slowly pushing inside his tight heat, biting his lip to hold back a moan.

“Fuck, Lou,” he grunts, leaning forward to bite Louis’ shoulder harshly, not giving the boy any time before starting to piston his hips in and out. Louis keens beneath him, white knuckling the wood of the headboard.

And no, he’s definitely not imagining larger hands, deeper groans, and dirtier words. Definitely not rolling his hips back to meet Zayn’s already bruising thrusts like he knows someone likes. No, definitely not.

He whimpers when Zayn slaps his arse roughly, yet way more gentle than Harry would’ve. He pounds hard enough to knock the headboard into the wall, forcing the word “ _Daddy!_ ” past the smaller boy’s lips. He feels Zayn’s motion stutter for half a second, his heart aching for the broken little boy he’s taking advantage of. He huffs before grasping his hips a little harder and fucking him harder, changing his angle and dragging hard over his sweet spot.

“Shit, Lou. So fucking tight for Daddy, yeah?” the older boy growls in his ear, nibbling his earlobe tenderly. Louis sobs in response, nodding his head.

He reaches under them, thumbing circles into the head of Louis’ cock, feeling the slick bubbles of pre-come accumulating at his slit. Louis whimpers, his muscles tightening as if he’s trying to keep his orgasm at bay. Zayn drags his hips a little slower, doing little figure eights right against his prostate. His legs go a little wobbly, his knees sliding a little further apart as he swears softly.

“Daddy, pl-please,” Louis whines, not really aware of what he’s begging for.

“Shh, baby. Be good for Daddy, okay? You want to come, love?”

He chokes out a soft “ _yes, please_ ”, a sob ripping through his throat. He bites his fist, feeling Zayn resume his hard thrusting motions. The older boy drapes himself over him, wrapping his longer arms around his midsection and pulling him up so they’re both straight up on their knees. He moans loudly into his shoulder blade, decorating his skin with an array of bruises.

Zayn feels his belly get tight with his fast approaching orgasm, feels his legs and arms getting tired from supporting Louis’ weight in the backwards hug. His thrusting gets sloppy and faster, feeling his balls draw up tight, groaning as he releases into the condom. He fucks himself through it, reaching back around to grip Louis’ terribly hard cock, stroking him fast and quick.

“Thank you, thank you,” Louis chants once again, forgetting Zayn’s previous assurances. It’s only a few seconds later and he’s coming too, dribbling out against his tanned belly and Zayn’s fist. He whimpers and sobs, fucking up into the older boy’s tight hand.

Silence hangs heavy in the room as they both catch their breath. Zayn pulls out gingerly, slipping the condom off, tying it, and tossing it in the rubbish bin. He flops down onto the bed, watching Louis carefully. The younger boy’s still breathing heavily, gripping the headboard and staring at the wall.

He eventually manages to coax him down under the covers. He wraps an arm loosely around his waist until the younger boy cuddles into him, every line of their bodies pressed together. His lashes are wet when they brush against the skin of his neck.

***

He meets up with Niall for the first time in a few long months and things are okay. Better. It’s early and they’re just walking and not worried about getting drunk or high. It’s nice. Things are almost cool.

Zayn couldn’t handle his guilt and broke it off with his mum, and that’s cool. Louis doing better in school and life and so are his sisters and that’s really cool.

Maybe they walk past Harry’s flat while he’s settled on the steps flicking through a book and Louis doesn’t flinch. Maybe he smiles and slows down a little. Maybe he sits timidly next to him, murmuring a soft “ _hi_ ”.

And maybe Harry turns quickly, ripping him into a bone crushing hug, burying his face in the smaller boy’s neck. Maybe he murmurs apologies and tells him he hates himself and he hasn’t touched a drink in weeks. Maybe they melt into each other with murmurs of love and “ _Princess_ ” and it’s nice and lovely and okay.

Maybe he cries.

**Author's Note:**

> Find us on [Tumblr](http://1dfetusfics.tumblr.com).


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